Red is the Rose
by ForestEyes22
Summary: A 21st century woman is taken to a psychiatric unit in Inverness. There she touches a stone and is transported to rebel Scotland and tries to survive.


"The only bed we have available is in Edinburgh I'm afraid, Miss Seton". I'm not sure if the director was expecting any sense of a response to that insane statement, but I'm sure my bugged eyes, frozen body and gaping mouth accurately displayed the icy shock that hit me. I snapped my mouth shut. My eyes frantically took in the faces of the nurses and practitioners, all working very hard to avoid my eye contact. "Could you please explain to me this new piece of thrilling information I have just received director if you please", the words spitting from between my clenched jaw and the man had the nerve to look slightly frightened. After all, I suppose he did have a reason to be. He was attempting to tell a crazy woman that they didn't know what to do with her and were shipping her up to Scotland most likely, I thought, as soon as possible. "Now Miss Seton, you are well aware of the lack of progress you've made here" pausing to silence my impending outburst "but, BUT we think that this unit will be much more beneficial to your recovery progress. Although it is in Scotland, it boasts a state of the art treatment plan and facility and its location is meant to be…secluded." I scoffed "secluded, Jesus Christ I bet you're dropping me off in the middle of nowhere so I'm no longer your fucking problem you bunch of", here the director stepped in quickly, a blush rising on his slapworthy face "Miss Seton please, we knew that patients would have to be placed all around the country as soon as the NHS crashed last year. We simply have to make do with what we've got, the only bed in the whole of the UK is in Scotland, and you are the one to have it. You're going to make your way over there tonight with two nurses. You should feel lucky"

I'm still not sure what happened at this point in time, as the tranquiliser made things a little hazy. The nurses packed my meagre belongings with fastidious concentration, ignoring every question or curse directed at them. A few books, my toiletries, clothes and pillow were bundled up in a brown suitcase that reeked of unjust journeys (or so I snidely thought) and taken by the rotund matron. Next I was shoved in a smart black dress that wasn't mine, my head re shaved so I looked like a shocked bald eagle, and a treatment plan was chucked on my lap. "Inverness mental health unit, tailored for individual treatment in the rolling hills of the Highlands". My eyeballs rolled so far back into my head I wasn't quite sure if they'd return. Who would have thought this would be my lot in life, mad and heading off to the most remote location imaginable. I angrily pushed away the thought that pointed out that it was a conceivable idea. "Patient information". This should be entertaining. "Patient is a female 18 year old who has presented with anorexia nervosa, psychotic depression, and bipolar type 2 disorder, all of which have been exacerbated by her family's death in a car accident last year and led to two nearly successful suicide attempts, one by overdose and one by arterial injury on the left wrist. Patient has refused leaving the unit due to severe anxiety in London and is therefore not fit for discharge. Patient is being treated with lithium carbonate, citalopram, a low dose of stelazine" yada yada yada. No amount of drugs, therapy or anything can make my life or situation any better. If people were placed in my position, I think they'd go loony too. I tried voicing this once in a therapy session and it was fired down as a maladjusted thinking pattern. I'm not maladjusted, I had shouted, I'm just realistic. Next page, "proposed treatment", taking a big breath I start reading. "Patient will be in the holistic environment of the highlands and in the expert care of Mrs Graham within a renovated period building". I stared at that line for a good 3 minutes, ruminating over the changes hovering over my head like a knife when a sharp voice beckoned me out. One cursory glance over my edgeless, white room with its discreetly barred windows and I was tugged outside.

Being outside was one thing, but sitting on a public train for 6 hours was quite another. And I sat there in my near death state about to explode. I peeled the skin of my hands frantically, then panicked about the fact I'd done that, I tugged my hair. People walked up and down the aisle, their coats brushing my skin was like charged barbed wire, and the back of their heads seemed to hold another set of eyes that were scrutinising me. I shook my head, the eyes were gone. Rolled up under skin or hair or simply, they hadn't been there to begin with. The motion of the carriage felt like a sinking ship, the tannoy announcing our impending doom, the flash by of London smog was terrifying and even more so as I left my most permanent place of residence behind. I gripped the spiky red seat under me and cast my imploring eyes as the nurse, who, after putting up with my state for an hour, opened a medical bag and retrieved a pill which I greedily snatched and swallowed dry.

In my more relaxed state, I began to gaze out of the window with interest. A thinning out of population and buildings was happening as we followed the winding track that looked like a strawberry bootlace on the map I had in front of me. Green was replacing grey, small cottages were dotted about as randomly as the route we were seemingly taking. Dozing off, with my forehead pressed against the glass I began to think that perhaps isolation was what I needed, for a while anyway.

The train lurched to a halt like a car flipping over and I awoke with a scream on my lips and a bruised forehead. With confusion, reality came and filtered back into my brain. The nurses were shuffling about, collecting bags and coats and one gently took my arm to help me rise. "We've arrived Miss, you were out for 5 ours! It's only a 20 minute taxi ride from the station and then you'll be in your own bed don't you worry". Impossible, I thought.

Driving into Inverness was exactly how I imagined it to be, underwhelming. I counted a town hall, various cottages, a mall estate, an off licence, and various village shops in a merry row of 5, a church whose gargoyles rivalled the monsters that followed me around occasionally. People peered into the taxi as we passed and I slid down in my seat a little lower. A courtyard came prettily into view and a shrewish woman wearing a floral dress stood outside a door to a large house, the cab stopped and action whirled around outside me and I Wished I could stay inside. Suddenly, overwhelmingly I wished I could; In fact I was stuck to the seat. The car door opened and the nurses, all 3 of them, stood there like the hags themselves, rolling up their sleeves.

Mrs Graham led my shaking, bony frame upstairs into a pleasant, very un-hospital like room chattering in her broad Scottish accent all the while. "Now my dear, this is where you'll be staying for a while so make yourself at home. Dinner is at 7 tonight so come down promptly and we'll try and feed you up a bit lass" she elbowed me in the ribs like a conspirator and watched me walk cautiously about. I touched a vase that caught my eye on the side table. "Ohh aye that was my grandmother's, said a lass from London bought it whilst they stayed here for their honeymoon 80 years ago or so now". I stroked it's modestly curved base, "it's lovely. Did they leave it behind?" Mrs Graham blanched a little and I turned fully to look quizzically at her. "Well I suppose she did, the lass went missing during her stay here, caused a right stir in a town such as this. Never been found, disappeared without a trace. Bad for the business back then, this used to be a B and B". I must have looked as intrigued as I felt, and also as disturbed as I felt sleeping in the same room as a most likely murdered woman, for Mrs Graham quickly hurried out the room and shuffled in a few seconds later holding a browned file. She handed it to me, "I see the story quite captures your mind lass. My ma kept this when her ma died, found it sad to throw away the evidence of someone's existence you know?". I agreed silently and opened the file, a curled photo of a young woman lay clipped on top of what looked like sightings, notes, and police reports dated 1946. The woman was sitting in an old car, her head turned towards the photographer, a shining mane of black curls falling out from a headscarf, a pleasing mouth smiling and a soft almost wry look was about her blue eyes. I stared at it for a long time, and barely heard my bedroom door click shut.


End file.
